Arch McKinlay

During the present presidential primary race, we have seen the usual stuff plus the emergence of a black preacher, the Rev. Jeremiah Wright, Jr., as the presumptive surrogate of one of the candidates, Barack Obama. Different people have reacted differently, but to help understand why, I refer you to the excellent book by Indiana University Professor Richard M. Dorson, "Land of the Millrats," Harvard University Press, 1981.

In the fourth chapter, "Black Outlooks," Dorson deals with preachers. He agrees with Alan Lomax that black preachers are the greatest figures in American folklore.

"As the Afro-American folk tradition is the richest in the United States, so is the preacher the central personality in that tradition: the deliverer of chanted sermons, the butt of ribald jokes, the performer of miraculous cures," he wrote.

He then takes a look at several of Gary's most prominent preachers of 1981. Starting from the premise that Gary's black residents expressed a wholly different outlook, "based on the sweet taste of success." Dorson goes on to say that the preacher must be a showman as well as a Godly man, businessman, public relations man and wise man. At the same time, he must employ the symbols of success, such as the finest of homes, cars and clothes. He also mentions that the preacher-hero, like all folk heroes and culture heroes, has detractors as well as boosters.

One of the preachers he focused on was Dr. F. Brannan Jackson, preacher of Calvary Baptist Church, 2400 Virginia St. He described Calvary's service as having a good deal of folk spirit, including a woman who played the piano to the left of the altar, who from time to time burst loudly into song, and a male organist to the right. An energetic chorus of two dozen robed women, along with others in street clothes, filled the church with choruses and solos.

Rev. Jackson, "head poised like a peacock's as he scanned the congregation," governed the proceedings. "He babbled, spoke with, prodded, and aroused the churchgoers with a versatile performance that can be summed up with "they never go to sleep on me," he wrote.

"As the tempo heightened, the preacher threw back his head, extended his arms, and delivered his sermon in a strong, raspy voice accented with traces of Southernisms and punctuated with staccato phrases and formulaic grunts," Dorson wrote. "The congregation responded with interjections and Amens and two or three became 'happy' and were fanned by nearby friends and attended by a nurse stationed in the front row.

The opinions expressed solely are those of the writer.